Receptive Audience
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: Adn you think being a receptionist is easy work - not at UNCLE HQ. A Working Stiffs story


When I was just a little snip of a thing, all of maybe twelve, Daddy took me aside and sat me on his knee. "Now Jenny Jean, I want you to pay heed to what I'm about to tell you."

He's all serious like, so I get all serious like. "Yes, Daddy," I said, but mostly I was thinking about the swimming hole and all the fun we were gonna have there in a bit.

"Now you're getting a little older, you're gonna find boys are gonna start sniffing around you like you see them old hounds sniffing about Duchess sometimes."

This was not what I was expecting from Daddy. Momma and me, we'd already had the 'lady' talk, so I know what he's hinting at, but I don't know exactly what's troubling him. So I nod, really somber and sad, like I don't already know why all the boys been trying to look up my dress.

"Well, there's a gift that you can only give one man and that man should be your husband. Do you know what I'm saying, child?"

I did. For a minute, I nearly said "No" just to see what he'd do, but I couldn't be that cruel. My Daddy, he loved me lots and I knew this was hard for him.

"You find a fella you want in that way, you bring him home to me and let me be the judge of whether or not he's good enough for you, girl." And he's so sincere that right then and there, I swear to him on the Sears Roebuck catalog that I'll remain a virgin until my wedding night.

Okay, so now we fast forward about ten years and I've learned the hard way about making promises when you don't truly understand the consequence of your actions. My Daddy, he loves me so, but some of those boys, I think maybe they love me just a little bit more.

After I got out of high school, this nice guy came around and offered me a job in New York City. It was a little scary and come to think of it, he didn't ask me much. Mostly he talked with Momma and Daddy and it was all sort of decided for me. I'm not stupid, but I'm not all that smart either. I figured I'd end up working at Old Man Miller's store checking out and stocking shelves for the rest of my life, at least, until some fella met Daddy's approval and I went off to sweat and slave for him.

Instead, I end up living and working in the Big Apple – I don't know why they call it that. There aren't any apple orchards even close by. Anyhow, I am a receptionist. I sit at a nice desk and when the agents come in, I give them a badge. They can't get any further in the building unless they see me first. I like that and I like most of them. Some of them are sort of stuck up; others are just too loosey-goosy for me to bother with.

Mr. Napoleon, he's one of those. Just as nice and sweet as the day is long, but he's one of those boys Daddy warned me about. And while I would have loved to see if all those things the other girls say is true about his love making, I knew Daddy would seize up and surely die if I brought Mr. Napoleon back to the farm. But he sure is mighty fine to look at.

Mr. Illya, he's a good looking man too, but Daddy would take one look at him and laugh. I can hear him now. "They ain't nothing to him, girl. You want yourself a man, not a boy." Mr. Illya, he's too short, too skinny. If he'd been a pig, Daddy would 'a called him a runt and maybe even put him down. I think he's more like a banty rooster, though, tough as nails and, from what I hear from the girls - some of the same ones who talk about Mr. Napoleon that way - well, Mr. Illya does all right in the loving department, even if his equipment does look a little different.

They're two of a whole slew of fellas who look so fine, but just don't make Daddy's list for one reason or another. But it doesn't stop my heart from jumping when I see them walking in together most mornings. Mr. Napoleon, he's always flirty and talks with me, teasing and smiling. Mr. Illya, he's looks like he's got a misery most mornings… I sort of suspect often times that misery is his partner, but no matter. That's 'tween them.

This morning started out like most. I relieved Barbie from the night shift and look through the phone messages. Lots of them are for Mr. Napoleon, mostly ladies, but there's a message for Mr. Illya. Now that's a bit strange, because he doesn't get messages, not ever in the four years I've been doing this job. And it deson't make sense, the message, I mean, but I figure maybe it's written in some kinda code.

Mr. Napoleon comes in, alone, but he does that some times. He looks sort of tired and like he's got his mind elsewhere, but that's not all that odd either. That man should learn that there are other things you can do in bed. Like sleeping, but I don't think he gets much sleep most nights. Not the way the girls in the break room talk.

"Good morning, Jennifer, how are you today?" He says my full Christian name suits me better than the other and I like listening to him say it. Makes me feel all grown up and sophisticated.

"Good morning, Mr. Napoleon. How is the world treating you today?"

"Not as well as it could." That when I notice he's got a bruise just by his ear and it looks like it pains him. "What do you have for me?"

"Lots of ladies who want a moment of your time. Oh, I don't expect I'd be out of turn giving you Mr. Illya's, would I?" I offer him the other slip.

"Illya has a phone message? That's weird." See? It isn't just me. He takes it and frowns. "'That willing suspension of disbelief for the moment, which constitutes poetic faith.' That's a famous quote , but who said it?"

"You askin' me, Mr. Napoleon?"

"More thinking out loud, I suppose. It seems familiar somehow." He turned the sheet in his hand like there might be something on the back. There isn't. "And I'm assuming Illya hasn't checked in with you?"

He knows the answer to that question, I can see it in his eyes, and that's when I start to think that maybe he doesn't know where Mr. Illya's gotten off to either.

"Not yet, but he might a'come in a different way." The agents almost always come in by Mr. Floria's shore, but every once in awhile they sneak in. Usually thought, that receptionist will call and let me know so I can keep tabs on who's in the building.

"I wouldn't be that lucky." Napoleon lets me pin his badge on and pats my hand. "If you see him, let me know, okay?"

I nod back, smiling in what I hope is a comforting fashion. "I'll do just that, Mr. Napoleon."

The next thing I know, the elevator opens and a couple of Section Three agents step out. They're nice fellas, not as much in a hurry as the field agents and one of my favorites is Mr. Todd. He's such a nice guy. He hasn't got much in the way of looks, but he's got a good heart and he always treats me fine. I just wish he'd treated me a little better than fine, if you know what I mean. Daddy would like this boy, but he doesn't seem to care much for me one way or the t'other. It's a little odd to see them just take a seat across from me.

"Something going on I should know about, fellas?" I try not to make like this is my space and they're pushing in, but it is and they are.

"Nothing to worry your little head about, Jenny Jean." That's Mr. Cornell and I don't like him very much. He thinks girls are just plain stupid just because they're girls. He treats me like I'm five and not his co-worker. I went through the training and I can out-shoot both of them. Mr. Cornell, he doesn't like that I'm better at something than him and he makes sly fun of me every chance he gets.

"Just a precaution, Jenny." Jimmy, I mean Mr. Todd says real polite-like and I see that his ears have gone red, like he's mad or something. "Solo thinks something's up."

So we just sit there and the minutes tick by. They just sit and I go about my business. Even when there aren't agents coming in and out, there's still plenty to do, reports to type and phones to answer. For a tippy top secret organization, we get lots of phone calls. I only handle the outside calls coming in to our cover companies, but that can still get pretty hectic some days. When I first got here, I'd go home every night and just cry into my pillow, knowing I couldn't do this job, but it got easier and better and now I don't think about it much.

The outside door opens and Mr. Illya comes in. He looks like death warmed over, pale and sort of gray. He can hardly stand up and I see Jimmy, Mr. Todd, start to get up, but Mr. Cornell grabs his arm and shakes his head.

There's a fella with him, someone I don't know, and I know most of the agents, even the ones from around the world. He's got his arm around Mr. Illya's waist, sort of holding him up.

"He needs to get to Medical," the man snaps at me. And Mr. Illya, he sure looks like he could do a turn there. I reach for his badge and that's when I see his eyes. They're all red and bloodshot and they look frantic, like he's trying to tell me something, something important.

One thing you need to know about Mr. Illya is that he doesn't like having his badge pinned on. He does it himself. It's just the way he is.

"What are you waiting for? Put his badge on!" The other agent yells at me and so I stand up and start to pin it on and that's when I glance down and see the wires leading from Mr. Illya's waist into his shirt and I figure out there's something very wrong. So I fumble and drop his badge.

"Sorry, still new on the job," I say kind of loud and I see both Mr. Cornell and Jimmy sit up to take notice. They both know I've been at this for years now.

"Could you use a hand?" Cornell comes around and starts to reach for Mr. Illya, but I shake my head really quick like, like I was flicking my bangs out of my eyes. He gets the message and then Jimmy comes around to the other fella.

"You must be new; I don't recognize you. You out of the Duluth office?"

"Yeah, just started." Well, hell's bells, there isn't a Duluth office and we all know that. I go back around my desk and kind of casual press the security button. It would start the cameras, as well as letting the folks inside know that we've got a fox in our hen house.

"Then there's a problem." Jimmy's pistol is out, the tip of the barrel resting under the guy's left ear. "I would recommend that you stand very still and tell us exactly what's going on here."

"Figure it out for yourself, UNCLE." But the man doesn't move. Mr. Illya looks like he's trying to talk, but the words just won't come out and we all just stand there for probably a minute, but it seems like an hour. ThenMr. Napoleon is suddenly there and he comes up to us, reaching out to Mr. Illya.

"Don't touch me," Mr. Illya rasps. Seeing his partner must have helped clear his mind a bit. "I'm rigged."

"Sorry, it took me some time to figure out your message." He looked at the other man. "Samuel Taylor, I presume? I've been wanting to meet you for a long time." The fella just sneered at him again and Mr. Napoleon keeps talking. "I would suggest that all non- essential personnel leave the premises." I think he meant me, but I wasn't moving, not while Jimmy was still there.

"Illya, the trigger?"

"Don't let him move." Mr. Illya's head is sort of bobbing up and down, like one of the little dogs you see in the back windows of cars. "If he takes his hand off my waist, I'm primed." He swallows hard. "There's enough on me to take out the building."

I don't know what it means, but I know it wasn't good. Mr. Napoleon goes to his knees and carefully pushes aside Mr. Illya's coat to examine things, then looks over at me. "Jennifer, you've got the smallest hands, I want you to swap places with our friend here. You are going to have to be fast."

"No!" Jimmy yells and we all sort of jump. "It's too dangerous. Not her, I'll do it."

"Nonsense, Jimmy, I'll be fine." So I reach down and now I can feel something hard and square-like there on Mr. Illya's tummy. I run my hand along until I'm touching fingertip to finger tip with the other fella and ever so slowly, I push his fingers off and mine onto the tiny box. "Okay, got it."

"Don't let go, please," I hear Mr. Illya whisper. It's weird being this close to him, he smells funny, kinda sickly sweet, like he's been rolled in sweet feed gone bad. His clothes are all wet and cold feeling and he's trembling, but I don't think it's cause he's scared. Mr. Napoleon slips Mr. Illya's arm around his neck, helping him hold up because it doesn't look like he's up to the job for much longer.

"What did you give him?" I ask, but the man just smiles. Jimmy grabs him and I suspect he isn't gonna be smiling much longer. Then the bomb squad arrives and they start to work, muttering and talking about stuff that doesn't make much sense to me. Every once in awhile, they ask Mr. Illya a question I think to make sure he's still with us.

I stand there for probably a good hour, just holding that switch down and keeping Mr. Illya upright, before they finally declare he's defused. Mr. Napoleon makes a very rude comment just before Mr. Illya collapses. By the time they loaded him onto one of those rolling beds from Medical and wheel him out, I'm a limp as a dish rag. It sure felt good to sit down.

"Taylor finally told us what they gave him. Medical will put him right now." Jimmy has come back in the meantime. I don't ask what has gone on with the other guy, figuring I don't really want to know. Jimmy's knuckles are all skinned up, so I have a pretty good idea. "That was awfully brave what you did."

"Nah, I just did what needed to be done." But I am sorta happy he'd noticed.

"Would you like to go out some time and get some dinner?" And I was even happier then.

Well, long story short, we got married about six months later and now Medical tells me that I don't exactly have the twenty-four hour flu, more like a nine month bug. UNCLE says I can work as long as I want, but I'm about ready to stay home now and dream about our little one. I hope it's a boy, cause I got the perfect name for him. We'll name him Samuel Taylor Todd, but we'll call him Switch for short cause that's what brought his daddy and me together. And maybe we'll ask Mr. Napoleon and Mr. Illya to be his honorary uncles. I think they'd like that.


End file.
